Two Girls, One Conveyor belt

Thunder cracked above as Mira slammed the car door shut, rain already soaking the front of her plunging crop top, the fabric stretched tight across breasts that bounced with every frustrated step. Her cleavage looked poured in—thick, pillowy, impossible not to stare at.

“GPS says this place is the only building with power for miles,” she muttered.

Jules came around the side, tugging her microjacket over equally obscene tits, her hips swaying hypnotically in tight jeans that clung like second skin. “Looks like a warehouse. Maybe someone’s here who can help…”

They stepped under the awning of a tall, rusted facility. Above them blinked an old neon sign:
HFL Co. – Human Flattening Logistics
Rain fizzled against the flickering letters.

“Flattening?” Jules blinked. “Like shipping boxes?”

They pushed through the metal door. Inside, steam hissed in the air. Conveyor belts rolled quietly. Giant steel rollers hung suspended from the ceiling, gleaming like they’d just been oiled. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

“I don’t like this…” Mira’s heels clicked as she moved. “There’s no one—”

CLANG.

A door slammed behind them. From the shadows, figures emerged.

Big. Muscular. Bare-chested. Grinning.

One cracked his knuckles. Another toyed with a wrench. Their coveralls were smeared with grease and something far slicker.

“Well look what wandered in,” one said. “You two part of the new inventory?”

“We’re not—hey, back off!” Jules hissed as the nearest man stepped forward.

But they weren’t waiting for permission.

One lunged, grabbing Mira by the waist, lifting her clean off the floor as her thick tits jiggled violently. “Hold her,” he barked.

Jules screamed—tried to run—but two of them were on her. One yanked her arms behind her back while the other grabbed the neckline of her top and RRRRIP—it split down the center, her tits popping free like they’d been aching to escape. “Goddamn,” he grunted. “You girls come pre-inflated.”

“Get off me! What the fuck is this?!” Mira writhed, but the man had her pinned against the cold wall as another came up behind and reached for the hem of her skirt.

ZIP. RIP.

The fabric fell away in strips, panties pulled down around her ankles in one humiliating yank. Her thick ass and wet slit were now totally exposed.

Jules got it worse. They held her by the wrists as one man bit the elastic waistband of her jeans and peeled them down with his teeth. “You're squirmy,” he growled against her inner thigh. “Gonna love seeing you flatten out.”

“Flatten?!”

Another man smirked, hitting a nearby button. The wringer above roared to life with a shudder, rollers spinning slowly.

“Company policy,” he said. “Can’t process fabric. Only flesh.”

Mira and Jules were dragged kicking and shrieking to the conveyor, arms pinned behind their backs, huge tits swinging wild. Their naked bodies trembled with fear… and something darker.

The belt began to move.

“Wait! STOP! STOP—!!” Jules shrieked as she tripped onto the belt, landing face-first, tits pressed flat. Mira landed beside her with a slap of bare skin, the two of them now spread-eagled, helpless, their curves about to become curves no more.

The men leaned against the railing above, watching with fascination—and lust.

Then the rollers descended.

VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-CLUNK.

Metal slammed flesh.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH—!!” Jules cried out, her moan choking off as her tits were squashed like dough beneath a rolling pin. Nipples smeared, spread wide apart. Her pussy flattened into a glistening streak. Her mouth stuck open in a wide, trembling “O” of surprise.

Mira’s hips bucked as the pressure hit her. "FuuuhhHHHCK—!" Her fat ass compressed with a deep, wet shlurrrrk, cheeks pancaking and jiggling beneath the relentless weight.

Their whole bodies shivered as nerves were compacted, breasts ironed into glossy curves, every inch reduced to smooth, obscene thinness.

One of the men unzipped his fly. “Look at ‘em. Fuckin’ perfect.”

The flattened girls slid out the other side, glossy and gleaming.

The conveyor rolled on.

STAMP.
STAMP.

Labels were pressed onto their glistening hips...

The men chuckled as the girls were rolled toward the loading dock, now no more than posters—wrung flat, well-used, and shipping-ready.